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June 1, 2008

I took my sister out for a belated birthday brunch at the best place I know of, which happens to be out in the suburbs. On the way there she spotted a band saw in someone's front yard, near a sign that said "Yard Sale". So we did a U-turn in someone's driveway and doubled back.

The band saw turned out to be a solid, fairly small one, in need of a new belt but otherwise appearing functional; the current owner had inherited it from the previous owner of his house. DS bargained them down to $35 and we wrestled it into a garbage bag and then into the trunk of my new car. I had given her a card with a check for $50 in it, unable to come up with any present ideas (the only suggestion she'd given me was a theremin kit, the day before her birthday party: I'd said I thought it would take more than twelve hours to track one down.) This way she's getting something she really wanted, and she still has $15 to spend on replacing the belt.

At the restaurant, the waitress turned out to be someone I knew from high school and DS couldn't remember at all. This would be a more impressive story if she'd been someone I used to loathe, but in fact she was a perfectly nice girl with whom I'd always been on friendly if distant terms. She told us how several people I barely remembered were doing. DS asked me questions afterwards about who she was and in what context she should remember her, but in truth I could barely remember myself. All I could remember was that she was always nice, always smiling, and for some reason I visualize her as wearing plaid shirts. She asked me if I was still in the Symphony and I said no, meaning "never", a bit puzzled.

When we came out of the restaurant the cicadas had advanced over my car. They weren't in it, thank God, but they were sitting on it. One flew off my window and buzzed me. Ugh.